Good Will Mephisto
The screech of the chalk on the board reminded Mephisto of a rock troll reaching climax. His fingers were approximately as dusty too, he mused as he turned back to the class. Maybe he would pay a visit to Sedimary after he finished teaching, to celebrate the night away in the softness (metamorphorically speaking) of her bigneous boobies.
A toothy grin split his face and he struggled to keep from fidgeting. He must have looked quite the lunatic, yet he suddenly found that he did not care. Indeed, all great men were expected to be a little crazy. He knew now how the inventor of the wheel or the miniskirt must have felt, with curtain in hand and enstiffened by the knowledge that they were about to revolutionise the world.
With the pride of a crab-free dockwhore, Mephisto proclaimed, “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how to properly tie up an owlbear in heat. For consensual use only, of course.” In a move he dubbed the Mephisto Melter he winked both eyes at once, at separate girls in the class, and then positioned himself to graciously receive a standing ovation. He had just blown their dull little minds.
The boy in the front row was picking his nose.
When no rapturous applause came, no triumphant shouts to rattle the grimy windows, he felt his grin waver at the edges. Doubt gnawed at his insides, doubt at the one talent that he held above all the rest, even his ability to blow out candles with his cock from twenty paces - his mastery of the crowd. Could he have misread his audience?
The boy nibbled something off the end of his claw.
Yes, this was most definitely a beginner level class. One of the boys up the back was wearing a cravat, Mephisto had assumed ironically. Now he was not so sure. And a girl near the front looked oddly confuddled, as if she’d just had an independent thought. How had he not seen it sooner! Everyone in the class was a bare amateur in the art of seduction.
For the sexual education course of Hell’s premier Academy of Diabolic Integrity, it sure was full of clumsy children.
So why, then, had he been asked to teach it?
His stomach dropped like a professional eater unbuckling his heavyweight belt - he’d been set up. One glance at old Mr Splashyslashy up the back confirmed as much. He could hardly stay upright on his unicycle these days due to arthritis, yet now he was doing excited burnouts behind the desks as if he’d just drowned a high school quarterback. Tears of joy streaked through his nightmarish makeup and his razor sharp mouth lolled open in silent cackles.
He was considered a bit of a prankster amongst the faculty, a real comedian. But for being a murderous clown, Mephisto didn’t find him very funny.
There was no escaping now, not with the bell for lunch still a half hour away. Soundly defeated, Mephisto pulled up the leatherback chair and slumped grumpily onto his washboard arse. He sighed loudly too, in case the students hadn’t clued into his distaste for their very being, and said to no-one in particular, “Ok then. What do you want to know?”
Immediately, twenty hands and a flipper shot into the air. Mephisto let them stew for a moment before picking one kid at random. She was a prim and prudish looking little girl and, despite her hair being a nest of vipers, she seemed like the innocent type that would lowball him an easy question.
If he had to do this, he was going to make it as painless as inhumanly possible.
In a small but confident voice she asked, “Can you get pregnant from anal?” The class, who up to this point had been about as respectfully quiet as a stick of dynamite at its own funeral, spun around to gawk in unison - but not at the girl. Instead, all eyes and echolocators were on a red-faced young ghost boy two seats behind her that looked like he wanted nothing more in that moment but to die again.
Her boyfriend, Mephisto surmised.
“Yes,” he said, without explanation. “Next question.”